


In This Distracted Fear

by Nevanna



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Missing Scene, Non-Consensual Kissing, Power Imbalance, Season/Series 03, Sexual Harassment, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21775336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: With Jon missing, Martin has a lot on his mind.  Elias offers him a diversion.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 14
Kudos: 102





	In This Distracted Fear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nelja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/gifts).



> It's still the 12th where I am, if not where she is, so: happy birthday to the lovely and wonderful Nelja! Thank you for inviting me on this spooky ride, and talking with me about spiders and mind control and creepy power dynamics and Shakespeare Leitners (including _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , from which I took the title for this fic).
> 
> Thank you to the equally lovely and wonderful Orchis for her excellent beta reading.

When Martin looks over his shoulder, Elias has followed him into the library.

“I doubt that you often find yourself with nothing to do,” he begins. “But, should you have any spare time while you’re living here, you’re welcome to avail yourself of any of the books in our collection. I’m sure that our librarians would be able to tell you where to find the treatises on spider mythology. Only remember to sign them out first.” A smile slides into his voice. “I hope that they won’t inspire you to break into any more buildings.”

“I’m unlikely to try that again anytime soon,” Martin assures him.

“Your statement certainly gave me that impression. Though I hope that your experience hasn’t completely crushed your intellectual curiosity,” Elias adds. “Did it help?”

“Did… _what_ help?” Martin hopes that doesn’t make him sound too thick. “Investigating the building?”

“Telling your story,” Elias corrects him. “I’m told that it can be uniquely cathartic.”

Martin had dreaded reliving the past few weeks, and there were certainly moments in his recollection when the smells and noises and panic started to come back to him, but by the time he reached the end, he’d felt less like it was weighing him down, like Jon’s presence and voice were a rope that pulled the words from inside him, but also pulled him back to shore. “That’s one way of putting it.”

-

Martin barely heard the opening door or the approaching footsteps, and only looks up from the accordion file balanced on his lap when Elias says, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you hiding down here after hours. I hope something hasn’t chased you out of your flat again?”

Once Martin’s heartbeat slows down, he manages a reply. “I was just catching up on some filing. When I was following up on the Adrian Weiss statement, I saw how many other documents were out of place.” He gestures around them. “No need for the Archives to fall into complete chaos just because Jon’s…” _Missing. In trouble. Possibly a murderer, even though I still can’t believe he could be…_ “Not here,” he finishes.

“I’m sure that he would appreciate the thought.” Elias leans across Martin’s desk. “I certainly do. And now that Melanie’s joined us, perhaps you won’t have to deal with so many late nights.”

“So she’s officially on board, then?” Martin fastens a magazine clipping to one of the files.

“Indeed. She’s done plenty of paranormal research for _Ghost Hunt UK_ \- informal though it might seem, compared to ours.”

Martin’s ears prickle with embarrassment, and he rereads - for the third time - the headline on the magazine clipping. “When you told me, before… about her qualifications… I wasn’t trying to…”

“It’s quite all right,” Elias says, almost gently. “If I wanted to reprimand you for voicing your concerns, you would know. That said, I did hope that you’d be willing to show her how to record our statements.”

“Well, I’ve only just started in on that myself,” Martin admits.

“And how did you find it?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit hard to describe.” Maybe, if Martin tries, he can think of his first recording as a test: if he can make it through an account of decay and filth and (worst of all) wriggling piles of worms, he can make it through all sorts of horrors. Had he ever really stopped feeling like slimy, formless things were going to start squirming between the cracks in the walls at any moment? He breathes in deeply, dust and old paper and Elias’ pleasantly spicy aftershave, and tries to ground himself in the present moment.

“Why don’t I take you out for something to eat, and we can talk about it further?” Elias searches Martin’s face. “Or about anything else you’d like.”

“Would that be appropriate?” Martin asks. Some of his fantasies about Jon have started out in this almost this exact way. In at least one of them, Martin has asked almost that exact question.

“Decide for yourself,” Elias replies. “We’ll be walking to the restaurant that I have in mind, and you can turn around and flee at any time.”

-

Martin didn’t think that he’d be able to eat, after what he’d read earlier that day, but as he scans the menu, he realizes that the churning in his stomach isn’t disgust, after all.

He isn’t exactly planning to use the change of scenery - or the bottle of wine that Elias orders for them - to tease out extra information about the bodies in the basement or Jon’s absence, but he resolves to listen closely for anything that Elias might let slip.

But Elias deftly sidesteps every tentative question about the investigation, instead inquiring after Martin’s mother, and accepting a terse, “She’s about the same.” As they finish their appetizers, he asks what Martin has been reading, and somehow that turns into a discussion of which Shakespeare plays have ended up in Jurgen Leitner’s library.

“Of course, _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ is about - among other things - surrendering control to forces greater than oneself,” Elias remarks. “Which primes the text for certain enhancements. I doubt that there was ever an opening night quite like that one.”

Martin can’t resist asking, “What about the sonnets?”

“An excellent question,” Elias says, and Martin doesn’t think that the warmth inside him comes entirely from the wine. “Some of the more lovelorn ones do evoke a noticeable _loneliness_ in which certain powers might find a home… though perhaps not as easily as some friends of the Institute might wish. Now, you’ve written a bit of poetry, yourself, haven’t you?”

Martin nearly knocks over his glass. While he steadies it, he says, “It’s a hobby,” and tries to think about when he might have left his journals lying about, or mentioned them to somebody who would have passed that information upward. “Some people hike or do jigsaw puzzles or… or… make potpourri. I toss words together instead.” He changes the subject. “Did that director really ask that Puck be costumed as a giant wood spider?”

“Why? Are you hoping for photographic evidence?” Even in the ambient light of the restaurant, Elias’ eyes gleam, drawing Martin into the joke.

Martin starts to laugh, then cuts himself off, swallowing hard. He almost forgot about the unsolved murders in their workplace, and Jon’s disappearance, and…and whatever happened to Sasha… 

“Martin.” Elias puts down his own glass. All the humor has faded from his voice, and even his face seems to soften, showing a few more lines. “I think I can guess at what is troubling you.” He reaches across the table to touch Martin’s hand. “You needn’t be ashamed to smile or laugh. This is an uncertain time for all of us, and whether or not we choose to enjoy ourselves for a few hours, won’t change the outcome.”

Martin blinks back his sudden tears. “I appreciate that.”

“And yet…?” Elias prompts him.

“I think it will take a lot for me to stop thinking about…” He restrains himself just in time from saying Jon’s name. “About everything that’s happened. Everything that I don’t know.”

Elias finally withdraws his hand, but inquires, “Should I take that as a challenge?”

From anyone else, Martin would interpret _that_ as flirtation. He doesn’t mind it as much as he probably should. “How many more stories do you have?” With anyone else, he’d definitely be flirting back.

Elias lets out his breath in what could be either a chuckle or a sigh. “A few,” he replies. “I rarely, however, have so delightful an audience.” He holds Martin’s gaze. “Has nobody ever described you that way before?”

“Most people like someone who’ll... listen.” It’s suddenly a lot harder for Martin to listen to _anything_ above the pounding of his own heart in his ears. “But ‘delightful’... that’s new.”

“I see things that others don’t.” It’s such a simple combination of words, but suddenly Martin feels their weight, both imposing and inviting.

When he finally understands what’s likely to happen next, he could tell himself that this is the next step in his plan to catch Elias in a vulnerable state, but after they’ve finished eating and Elias has paid the bill, it’s he who asks, “Will you come home with me?” and it’s Martin who nods. Perhaps practicalities, information, _knowledge_ , are among the reasons for his choice, but they’re not the _only_ reasons.

-

Martin is aware, before he turns over, that Elias has been staring at him. He doesn’t entirely hate the feeling.

Once he was undressed, he felt lingering traces of self-consciousness over his body. Elias chased away those doubts - and so many others - with his lips and his teeth, his hands and his cock; with words that praised and teased and commanded; with appreciative and ecstatic noises when Martin touched him. They’d done most of what Martin had imagined doing with Jon, and a few things that he never thought he’d do with anyone. His body is still warm and slack, but after so many blissful hours, worry has started to creep back into his mind. He resists the urge to reach for Elias again: no matter how much he likes a bit of a cuddle, afterward, he feels that it would be absurd to ask. “What happens now?” he asks instead.

“Clarify, please,” Elias says crisply, as if they’re in a staff meeting, rather than lying side by side in his bed.

Martin fumbles for the words. “I’m just thinking.... should we go to work tomorrow and pretend we never… that this never happened?”

“If that’s your preference.” Elias runs his hand lightly down Martin’s side. “You can choose to see it as an isolated dalliance. ‘No more yielding but a dream,’ shall we say?” Another stroke, with fingernails this time. Martin suppresses a squeak. “Do you wish that we had never?”

Martin can’t see the point of lying. “No.”

“You’ve been lonely for a long time - not so much as you could be, but enough that I’ve noticed.” Before Martin can puzzle out what that means, Elias continues, “You deserve to feel good. I hope that I’ve convinced you of that.”

“And what about you?” Martin challenges. “What did you get out of this?”

“Everything I needed,” Elias says, and leans over to kiss him. Martin might have intended to ask something else, but he drifts into sleep instead.

When he does dream, it’s of a cold fog surrounding him, so completely that he can barely move, until the sun opens like an eye and burns it away.

-

Elias is leaving the Archives just as Martin arrives. Their eyes lock, the corners of his mouth twitch upward, and Martin looks away first, skin prickling with embarrassment and excitement at the flashes of memory.

He’s almost glad that there’s a statement waiting for him, and he even manages to record it without falling apart. Although he’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that Elias hasn’t made any more advances toward him, Martin tells himself - as he’s reminded himself every time Jon’s voice softened toward him over the past year - that life at the Magnus Institute is already complicated enough without ill-advised entanglements. 

And then Jon returns, in time for them all to find out how completely this place has trapped them.

-

The next time Elias summons Martin to his office, Jon is chasing leads overseas, and even though Martin and the others know just enough about how these one-on-one meetings can play out, he doesn’t care about any consequences for speaking out of turn: “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”

“His journey is proceeding quite according to plan,” Elias says, grinning widely, as if he knows that he hasn’t given anything close to a helpful answer. “It doesn’t take a mind reader to guess that you’re worried about him.”

Martin scuffs his shoes on the carpet. “It’s hard not to be, given how easily he gets into trouble.”

“And you’ll do anything to keep him out of it, won’t you?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Martin says. “Which is more than I can…”

“More than you can say for me?” Elias finishes, still grinning. “By all means, keep telling yourself that I don’t care about him. I wish I could _make_ you understand how important he is to me, but certain information remains proprietary. For now, I want to make sure that your concern for him doesn’t become too much of a liability.”

“What, then?” Martin asks bitterly. “You offering to _take my mind off it_?” He tenses as the words leave his mouth - acting smart with the boss wouldn’t exactly be a good idea even if he _didn’t_ have eldritch powers - but Martin can’t bring himself to take them back.

Elias leans forward. “Would you like that?” he whispers. “Would you like me to fuck you until you scream? Here and now?” He walks around the desk and leans over Martin’s chair, grips his shoulders, pinning him in place. “Do you think Jon would know about it, from all the way across the ocean?”

Martin’s heart is thudding with fear and poisonous desire. “What if I say no?” _No, you’re horrid, I never want you to touch me again…_ But the more memories of that night swirl through his mind, the less convincing those words sound. “Will you tell him what we did anyway?” 

“Perhaps I won’t need to,” Elias replies. “But I’ve noticed that you aren’t saying no. You’ve thought about it often, how good I made you feel… when you’re not too busy fretting about Jon’s safety or wondering if he still has any use for you, now that he’s _progressing_. I promise you that he does, and he will.” Maybe he hears Martin think, _Progressing into a monster,_ because he continues, “But meanwhile, you’ve looked at me more than once and hoped that at least _one_ monster still wants you.” He leans down and envelops Martin in a kiss.

Martin moans into it, and suddenly he’s back in Elias’ bedroom, scrambling blindly for his belt-buckle, and he’s not sure whether it’s the Elias of _then_ or _now_ who bats his hands away...

...and after a few moments, everything changes.

The sensations of heat and friction and cresting pleasure give way to the same chilly mist that sometimes lingers in Martin’s dreams, and that he recognized the moment that he met Peter Lukas. Two voices rise within the fog, both familiar now, and much more distinct than any of his own memories.

_“Peter, if you knew anything about human connection, you’d understand all the ways that it can be used to motivate-”_

_“I_ understand _that you’re pouting because you can’t make this… Martin, was it?... one of your playthings, while he’s carrying such a torch for your Archivist.”_

_“I never said that I couldn’t, especially with Jon temporarily out of the picture and the seeds of doubt firmly planted in his most loyal assistant.”_

_“‘Firmly planted,’ eh? Not exactly the finest of your double entendres. What say we put some stakes on whether you can seduce our young friend, without dropping any ideas or pictures into his head? Shall I make my usual offer of a donation to the project of your choice?”_

_“That will do nicely. And if I fail, I shall find you a fresh crop of crewmen for your future voyages. I thought that I detected a thinning in the ranks.”_

_“How much time shall I give you?”_

_“How much do you think I’ll need?”_

Elias pulls back from the kiss. “Of course, Peter didn’t set any rules about what I could slip into your head _after_ I’d successfully bedded you.” He pats Martin’s curls. “What, no wailing of ‘you used me, I thought you cared about me’?” 

By the time Martin starts to recover from the disorientation, he can’t even bring himself to be angry. “Maybe I hoped you did, a little bit, but I was probably lying to myself.” He doesn’t have to add that whether or not he believed in Elias’ sympathy and regard for him, he still _wanted_ them, in the moment, and even a few times since.

“Yes, you do seem to have a knack for lies, don’t you?” Elias sounds almost fond. “I hoped that it would have hit you harder when I revealed the truth, but there are many ways to satisfy our patron, especially when Jon returns and _asks_ you what’s wrong. He’ll make you tell every detail, everything that made you moan and writhe and come, all the ways that you showed how desperate you were and are. And the information will disgust him, but he’ll enjoy _taking_ it, and part of you will enjoy it, too.”

 _Freeing,_ Elias had called the process, and Martin knows what he meant, even though, right now, it’s hard to hope for any kind of freedom.

“You are here to be used, Martin,” Elias continues, in what could have been the same soft tone in which he’d reassured Martin over dinner, months ago. “Sometimes by me, perhaps by other Powers _far_ greater than ourselves, and almost certainly by the Archivist. _That is your purpose_.”

Martin clambers to his feet and toward the door, without waiting to hear another word. He nearly weeps again, with relief, when he finds it unlocked. Anything could have happened while his mind was literally somewhere else.

He barely makes it down the corridor to the stairs before he has to lean against the nearest wall, taking the deepest possible breaths to clear his head.

_Lonely._

_Everything I needed._

_Desperate._

_Plaything._

_Here to be used… almost certainly by the Archivist._ Martin knows that he can’t trust anything that Elias tells him, and never could, even if it turns out to be true. But he can’t imagine surviving this job for long if he can’t trust Jon.

He opens his eyes and slowly takes another step forward.


End file.
